


one last lonely sentry

by coffeeandchemicals



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Season/Series 02, Soft Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandchemicals/pseuds/coffeeandchemicals
Summary: Steve is real fucking tired. It’s only the beginning of October, but he wants to curl up in a ball and sleep for a week.It takes him awhile to realize that it didn’t used to be like this. But, as many things do, the insomnia had crept up on him gradually, so slowly that he didn’t even know what was happening until it was too late. Not that Steve could have done anything to stop it, even if he had recognized it. Because brains are confusing.Steve had been fine after that night at the Byers’ last November. Sure, his world had been turned on its head when he became party to the knowledge that monsters existed and interdimensional planes were a thing and little girls with telekinetic powers were made in labs. But that knowledge hadn’t bothered him too much; he still had Nancy, the gate had been shut, so there would be no more monsters or parallel realities, and that girl had disappeared.Everything had gone back to normal.For about a week.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 21
Kudos: 146





	one last lonely sentry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thursdayknight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdayknight/gifts).



> Written for the extremely talented [thursdayknight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdayknight). I hope you like it and it distracts you for a little while!
> 
> Please mind the tags! If I’ve missed something, please let me know.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderfully patient [red_plaid_on_red_plaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_plaid_on_red_plaid).

Steve is real fucking tired. It’s only the beginning of October, but he wants to curl up in a ball and sleep for a week. 

It takes him awhile to realize that it didn’t used to be like this. But, as many things do, the insomnia had crept up on him gradually, so slowly that he didn’t even know what was happening until it was too late. Not that Steve could have done anything to stop it, even if he had recognized it. Because brains are confusing. 

Steve had been fine after that night at the Byers’ last November. Sure, his world had been turned on its head when he became party to the knowledge that monsters existed and interdimensional planes were a thing and little girls with telekinetic powers were made in labs. But that knowledge hadn’t bothered him too much; he still had Nancy, the gate had been shut, so there would be no more monsters or parallel realities, and that girl had disappeared. 

Everything had gone back to normal. 

For about a week. 

Then Nancy had left him, muttering something about guilt. Then Hopper had asked him to keep an eye on the woods near his house (“You never know when that gate will open,” he’d said, when he’d dropped by over Christmas break, unexpectedly. Steve had just nodded, but wanted to ask _why him? Wasn’t he still a kid? Didn’t Hopper know that he couldn’t handle this much responsibility, he’d just fuck it up?_ But he didn’t say any of this, just threw out a, “Sure, yeah, I can do that.”). Then Steve became vigilant, always on guard against the things that didn’t so much go bump in the night but more like tear you to shreds in the night. 

But Steve could handle it. As long as he had his bat and his wits, he’d be fine. 

And Steve had handled it for about ten months. Or, at least he had thought he was handling it. He hadn’t noticed that his sleeps were getting shorter. In the winter months, the nights were long, so he was always waking up in the dark and going to sleep in the dark, he just stopped looking at the clock. Sure, things were getting fuzzy around the edges, especially in school, where he was walking around in a constant haze. But then summer came, and Steve didn’t have to worry about thinking critically anymore – he’d just barely passed his classes, but that wasn’t a big deal, he’d still passed. In the summer months, the nights were short, but he was still waking up in the dark and going to sleep in the dark, he’d turned his clock against the wall. In the summer, time didn’t have meaning. 

But, now, school has started, time has meaning again, September has just turned to October. Steve is still standing guard – more figuratively than literally; standing in those woods at night still makes his stomach turn. The noises make him jump, but not just those in the woods, he’s easily startled all the time. When he looks at himself in the mirror, his hair is still perfect, but his eyes have deep bags beneath them the colour of bruises. And he’s already failing three of his classes. 

No one had told him it was going to be like this. Steve had just been on the periphery of everything that had happened; he should be fine. But he isn’t; he can’t sleep and when he does sleep, his nightmares are filled with monsters and experiments and cold men doing evil things in the name of the greater good. 

And he doesn’t know who to talk to. Nancy has moved on with Jonathan. Hopper is gruff, stoic, and closed-off whenever he stops by Steve’s for an update on any unusual activity in the woods (there is always nothing for Steve to report). Steve would never trust Tommy and Carol enough to be vulnerable around them; besides, they’d moved onto being Billy’s lackies, not that Steve blames them for this. And Steve doesn’t know how to make friends anymore; every time he talks to someone, he wonders what they would do if they knew all the things that have gone on just underneath Hawkins’ surface. Steve doesn’t have the energy anymore to even try to hide this shit from someone new. 

Steve walks around wrapped up in layers of gauze, so he isn’t quite interacting with people around him, moving like a ghost from one room to another. He wonders if this is real, or if he’s dreaming his life now. 

Billy keeps bumping into him in the halls, at practice, in the parking lot. And Steve wonders if he’s dreamt Billy up, too, just to have someone to look at, someone to distract Steve from the monsters and men in lab coats. 

Steve _knows_ on some level that he isn’t actually dreaming. Billy is real and not some manifestation of Steve’s subconscious. His subconscious would have made Billy less of a dick.

In basketball practice, Billy is always there, up in Steve’s space, trying to get a rise out of Steve with his words and his expressions. But Steve is too tired to respond. His body is barely able to function in class, and now that he’s pushing it with physical exertion, Steve’s surprised he hasn’t just collapsed into a heap on the gym floor. 

Steve doesn’t remember showering nor getting to his car, but apparently these things happened. Because someone is banging on Steve’s driver side window and Steve is back in his street clothes. 

“Harrington,” someone says loudly, voice muffled by the fogged-up pane of glass between them.

Steve rolls down his window and sees Billy, hair still damp from the shower, shirt unbuttoned showing a gleaming chest, staring at Steve with an expression of concern on his face. “Aren’t you cold?” Steve asks, before his brain can advise him to perhaps not comment on Billy’s state of undress. 

“Didn’t think you cared,” Billy says, with a smirk, as he lights a cigarette. He exhales and adds, “What are you still doing here? You left like half an hour ago.”

“What,” Steve mutters, “you tracking my movements now?”

Billy grins. “Something like that, just curious if I’m ever going to meet your alter-ego.”

“Huh?” Steve asks, squinting up at Billy like he has no idea what Billy’s talking about. He doesn’t.

“Tommy keeps telling me about ‘King Steve’, but, man, I haven’t seen any evidence that you were king of anything before I showed up.”

Steve slumps back in the driver seat and closes his eyes. “Billy, I don’t have the energy. Why don’t you pick a fight with someone else?”

“You’re not looking too hot, Stevie. When did you last get some sleep?”

Steve opens his eyes to see Billy leaning towards him. “What do you care?” Steve asks, hoping that Billy will leave him alone.

“I know a thing or two about sleepless nights,” Billy says, voice lower.

Steve wants to make a crack about all the girls that Billy’s been sleeping with, but he stops when he’s sees that Billy’s expression is serious. 

“Oh. Got any cures lying around?” Steve asks, not expecting an answer.

Billy stubs out his cigarette and shakes his head. “Not really, just takes time, I think.”

Steve sighs and shuts his eyes again. Maybe he’ll sleep here tonight. 

“C’mon, Harrington, let’s get you home.”

“Huh,” Steve croaks out, he’d started dreaming already.

Billy pulls at the door handle and it opens, because, of course, Steve has forgotten to lock his doors. “You’re not safe to drive,” Billy says, as he wraps his hand around Steve’s upper arm and tugs. 

Steve almost spills out of his car onto the sidewalk, but Billy steadies him. 

“Are you drunk?” Billy asks, and Steve tries to stand, but ends up just hanging off Billy. Billy gets an arm around Steve’s waist. 

“Not drunk,” Steve mutters, despite the world spinning as the blood rushes from his head. “Just need some sleep.”

“You’d be a real cheap date,” Billy says so quietly that Steve probably wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn’t been leaning his head against Billy’s shoulder. Wait – when had that happened?

“’m not cheap,” Steve counters, but he’s already relaxing into Billy’s warmth. 

“You need anything else from your car?”

Steve shakes his head. 

Billy leans over, locks the door, and slams it shut. “C’mon,” Billy says, steering Steve towards the Camaro. “You’re no lightweight, that’s for sure.”

Steve somehow gets into the passenger seat of Billy’s car. He expects Billy to ask him for directions, but Billy just starts driving. “You know where you’re going?” Steve asks, feeling more awake now. 

“Yeah, everyone knows where you live,” Billy says, glancing at Steve briefly and then back to the road. The sun had almost set making shadows stretch through the trees that bordered the road’s edge. 

Steve just nods and stares ahead. He wonders if tonight would be the night that the shadows start to move. 

“Wanna tell me why you’re not sleeping?” Billy asks, words muffled around the cigarette he’d just popped into his mouth. 

Steve wants to say _yes_. Steve wants to unburden himself on another person. Steve wants someone to hold him up for a bit. But he knows that’s impossible. So, he just says, “Not really.”

Billy breathes out smoke through his nose and give Steve a little nod. “Maybe some other time then,” Billy adds, “it’s not like there’s much to do here anyway.”

“You’d be surprised,” Steve mutters, hearing the bitterness flood his voice. 

Billy just looks at Steve and Steve is pretty sure Billy’s filing that away for ‘some other time’. Steve wonders if Billy is stockpiling ammunition for some future assault on Steve’s person. But Steve’s too tired to care. 

Billy reaches out, grasps Steve’s shoulder with one solid hand, and lets it linger. 

Steve looks from Billy’s hand to his face and back again. 

“You’re gonna be okay, Harrington,” Billy says, giving Steve’s shoulder another squeeze, and then releasing it. 

Steve lets out a little chuckle. “You gonna keep telling me that?” Steve asks, “otherwise, I dunno if I am.”

Billy takes another drag on his cigarette. “Sure, I can do that. You just let me know when you need to hear it.”

Steve’s stomach drops. He wants to ask what’s in it for Billy, why Billy is helping him, but he doesn’t actually want to know, at least not yet. He’d rather hold onto this feeling of safety for just a little bit longer. 

They pull into the empty driveway, the headlights briefly illuminating Steve’s house. 

“Your folks here?” Billy asks, as he shuts off the Camaro’s engine, turning everything back into an eerie twilight. 

“Nah, my dad is at some conference, mom went with him.”

Billy nods. “Must be nice to have the place to yourself.”

Steve shrugs. Sure, it was nice when he’d had friends over, before that night at the Byers’. But, now, knowing what could be out there in the woods, Steve doesn’t have anyone over. He’s the last lonely sentry, standing between Hawkins and its downfall. “I guess,” is all he says, because he can’t explain that to Billy.

“You gonna be able to walk on your own? Or am I gonna have to carry you?” Billy asks, opening his door to let the cold October air in. 

“I’ll be fine,” Steve says, “besides you wouldn’t be able to carry me anyway.”

Billy smirks. “You’d be surprised at the things I can do.”

Part of Steve wants to call Billy’s bluff. He wonders what Billy would do, if Billy would back down and say _just joking_ , or if Billy would sweep him up bridal style and take Steve over the threshold. “I’m fine,” Steve forces out. Maybe some other time, in some distant future, Steve would take Billy up on his offer. Maybe. 

They walk up the front steps, Billy walking just behind him. Steve can feel Billy’s breath on the back of his neck – clearly, Billy doesn’t care about Steve’s personal space off the court either. Steve unlocks the door, and gestures Billy to go ahead of him. Steve kicks off his shoes and Billy, seeing this, does the same. 

“You want a beer?” Steve asks, heading to the kitchen. 

“Sure,” Billy says, trailing after him. 

They end up sitting on the couch, Billy’s legs sprawled out in front of him, arms lying across the back. He looks completely relaxed, completely at home. Steve’s drawn in on himself, perched on the edge, ready to flee at any provocation. 

“You’re never going to sleep if you can’t relax,” Billy comments, taking a swig from his bottle. 

“I _can’t_ relax,” Steve says, surprised by the sob that almost works its way out of him with those words. He swallows, trying to force the lump in his throat down. 

Billy looks at him, blue eyes narrowed. “You can’t relax,” he says, voice low, it’s not a question, mostly a thoughtful musing. 

Steve takes a gulp of his beer. He can’t remember the last time someone sat with him. “Someone’s gotta keep watch,” he whispers, as if that explains everything. And it does. Hopper charged him with making sure nothing got to Hawkins from the woods. But there’s no one to replace Steve. No one he can switch shifts with. He’s always on call, always on duty. And it’ll be his fault if something breaks through. 

“Okay,” Billy says, “I know about keeping watch.” He takes another sip of his beer and then sets it down on the coffee table. “What are we watching for?”

Steve swallows. It’s not too late for him to take it back, play it off as some sort of joke. But he’s just so tired. “Monsters,” is all he can say. 

Billy gives a slow nod, like he doesn’t quite believe Steve. “Monsters,” Billy repeats, raising one eyebrow as if he’s daring Steve to change his story.

Steve sets his bottle down and collapses back on the couch. “Monsters,” Steve confirms, closing his eyes. “They could come back. Hopper told me to… to keep watch. And I just…”

“I’m gonna add that to the list of things we talk about later,” Billy says, dryly. “But, if I keep watch for you, will you sleep?”

Steve cracks open one eye to look at Billy, to see if he’s serious. Billy’s eyes are narrowed, arms crossed over his chest, back straight, he’s waiting for some kind of response from Steve. “I,” Steve starts to say, “I’ll try.”

Billy relaxes a little bit, lets himself lean back against the couch. “I’ll wake you if I see any… monsters,” Billy says. 

But Steve’s already drifting off; he’s already started dreaming.

Steve wakes up the next morning when the sun starts streaming in through the living room windows. At some point he’d fallen over, so his head is resting on Billy’s shoulder. 

Billy’s still there. 

Billy hadn’t left, his eyes are closed, but one opens as soon as Steve starts to sit up. Billy grabs Steve’s arm, to stop him from moving. 

“I’m still keeping watch,” Billy says, sleep making his voice thick and deep. “Go back to sleep.”

And one last lonely sentry became two.

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> I'm on tumblr! You can find me @ [coffeeandchemicals](https://coffeeandchemicals.tumblr.com/). I am always open to chatting or prompts!


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